Revenge is a Dish Best Served Dead
by sinsandshadows
Summary: PostTomorrow. Lilah has a new plan to get Wesley to join Wolfram & Hart. Unfortunately for everyone, it backfires.
1. The Plot

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Dead

BeautifulAli

PG-13

Free distribution, just post my name let me know.

All characters you recognize belong to Joss, all characters you don't belong to me.

Feedback is always welcomed and encouraged.

~~~~~~~~~

"How is your little project going, Lilah?"

"Quite well, sir, but I have an idea I need to run by you…."

"Yes, Ms. Morgan?  Is Angel's little puppy giving you a hard time, Lilah?  You know I could assign another of our associates to the task."

"That 'puppy' can become more dangerous than you could ever guess," she said, thinking back to last night and the cruel gleam in Wesley's eyes.  What she had said was true…he was slowly losing his soul, but far too slowly for her likes.  To hasten the loss, to turn him into the tortuous killer she knew he could be…that would be useful to the firm on all levels.  "His do-gooder soul is stopping him.  If there was a way to rid him of that baggage, a quick and easy way…he may just join us.  It would be only natural."

"You want my permission to have him made into a vampire, of all things?"

"Yes, sir."

"He would become more dangerous to us."

"But more valuable as well.  All he has to offer us now is his training as a watcher and his inside knowledge of Angel Investigations, which is quickly getting out of date.  He could be one of our best, I've seen it in his eyes."

"He is a Judas by nature now, Lilah.  If he turns on Angel, who is to say he doesn't turn on us as well?  And a vampire would be far more dangerous than an ordinary human."  A sigh from the other end of the phone.  "Very well, Ms. Morgan, you have my permission to have him turned, but you know the rules:  if this comes back to bite the firm on its ass, you are out of a job…and consequently—"

"Dead.  Yes, I know sir."

"Good.  Do it then.  And I'll expect a progress report on my desk tomorrow morning."

"Yes, sir.  Goodbye, sir," she said, hanging up the phone and turning toward her guest.  He looked normal enough, with all the shades in the office drawn.  But she knew that was a minor glamour on his part.  The creature that sat before her was old, had in fact been worshiped as a god once, and Lilah knew that his true face reflected that age, and that power.

"Morpheus," she said.  One of the oldest living vampires.  Once god of sleep, he had created the Order of Auralius, of which Angelus was a descendent.  "You know what to do.  Take as many with you as you need, but he is usually at a bar drinking this time of night.  Or perhaps at home drinking.  Getting in is your problem."

The vampire gave her a wink, and then a formal bow.  "It shall be done, Lilah," he said with a smile, before exiting the room.

Lilah reclined in her comfortable leather chair, enjoying the view of her new corner office.  All she had to do now was wait.

~~~~~~~~

AN:  ok, yes, this chapter was short, but I've got more coming, especially if you guys like what I've got going here  ^_^


	2. The Chase

Morpheus did not generally do grunt work; it was more in his nature to sit back and have his orders carried out swiftly, and often brutally.  He would call, and they would come, be they kings or paupers.  But this upstart law firm…it amused him, and so he allowed himself to be used by them, to see where their plans would take him.  Of course, the core of Wolfram & Hart was far older than its Special Projects staff.  Far, far older.  As long as there was evil, there had been those who flocked to it in hopes to profit from it.  A lesser, sycophantic evil, was Wolfram & Hart, but quite evil all the same.  And recently, it was evolving, making its own plots, desperate to live its own dreams.  To gain power that was solely its own, and no one else's.

            Lilah Morgan.  She was one of those who were changing things.  Morpheus had known her but a short time, by his own reckoning, but already he could see that she was filled with pride…and hatred.  He could see her dreams, her deepest desires.  Besides power, which was a goal in itself, she wanted revenge and in her own twisted way, happiness.  Morpheus understood twisted happiness all to well.  Vampires lived (such as they were) for such pleasures.  They were twisted beings, who had no place in the universe, such as Morpheus saw.

            When one is as old, and as powerful as I, thought the ancient Master, one has time to ponder the philosophy of being.  And to take pleasure in the thrill of the hunt, which was quickly what this was becoming.  The hunt was always a thrill to a vampire, and a difficult hunt, against prey that could defend itself…that was the greatest thrill of all.  To be denied a real kill was not so much of a disappointment when compared to the joy of a dangerous hunt.

            He had this man's trail now.  He'd picked it up outside the bar Lilah said he frequented.  Wesley, he believed the name was, Wesley Wyndham-Price.  Not that it mattered to Morpheus what his name was, except that a name was power.  In his day, the common people had believed that knowing a name was to have power and influence over a person.  Morpheus still believed it, had in fact, found it to be true.  It gave him purchase in an otherwise foreign territory.

            His prey had left the bar, long ago it seemed, as the trail smelled stale, but it led in a clear direction, and Morpheus followed.  It seemed the man had wandered, with no destination but the one his feet set in front of him.  The stale, but steadily warming, trail led him to a park.  Few people were around, it being well after nightfall, and most people in L.A. were intelligent enough not to be alone in a park when the sun had gone down.  Evidently, this Wesley was not one of them.  That, or he felt he could handle himself against what came after him in the night.  And against most creatures of the dark, Morpheus was sure the man probably could…but he was not most.  He was old, and thus powerful and not without guile.  His prey was outclassed.

            Morpheus moved with supernatural speed across the ground, ever mindful to the quickly warming trail.  He would not want to get too near, to quickly, and lose the element of surprise.

            And so he came to a street.  And the trail led straight ahead.  All he had to do now was find a way into a house owned and thus protected by a warrior who dabbled in ancient magics.


	3. Shattered

            The mirror showed him a face he nearly didn't recognize, skin drawn and pale, dark circles beneath eyes that were cold and hard.  The scar tissue around his neck was still red, and still bothered him from time to time.  A phantom pain, Wesley told himself, a remembered pain only.  Sometimes that pain was the only emotion that reached behind the walls he'd put up around himself.  Other times, grief overwhelmed him, and he had to rely on things outside himself to give him a measure of solace.

            Alcohol.  Sex.

            Lilah always managed to get inside his walls.  Not that he would let her see that, of course.  That would be giving her another weapon to use against him, and she had far too many already.  He shuddered when he thought about how he had used her…and on one hand it felt like a small measure of vengeance, but on the other it made him sick to his stomach that he could do such a thing.  She was his enemy, he had no doubt of that, but did that give him a right to act the way he had?  Those words he said to her had been harsh and cold, calculated and aimed to hurt her.  He had exploited a weakness, for Lilah was certainly the most prideful being he had ever met.  Telling her that she didn't matter had hurt her more than a physical blow ever could.

            Pride was a sin.  One of the seven deadly sins.

            But Wesley saw no immediate need to make her suffer for it.  She had been civil at all times, and he supposed that was all he could ask of an enemy.  Except to leave him alone.  He could suffer well enough on his own, he did not need her help.  And he certainly would never give her his help.

            At times he thought he hated her, the way he sometimes hated Angel…but he had to give Lilah points in that comparison, for she had never tried to kill him.  He had only been trying to protect everyone.  He didn't want Connor dead, and he by no means wanted a return of Angelus…with no means to call a soul back to him, he would have to be killed, and Wesley had thought of Angel as a friend.  Not a close, buddy-buddy friend, but one you knew had your back in a fight.

            Why did they seem to think that he was the betrayer then?  He had never tried to kill Angel, which would also have prevented the prophesy from coming true.  He had never harmed Connor in any way, had in fact, been trying his damnedest to protect him for Angel's sake.  He'd been misled about the prophecy, but none of them had known it at the time.  He'd had his throat slit for his mistake, and that was punishment enough…he had thought he was going to die, with his blood pooling beside his face as he slowly lost consciousness.  And later, when he was at the hospital, alive and recovering, Angel had appeared…and had tried to kill him.

            That was betrayal.

            He saw the faces of Cordelia, Gunn, and Fred as they turned away from him, for Angel's sake.  Perhaps Fred had second thoughts, but it wouldn't matter next to Angel's opinion, and Cordy's backing of all things Angel said.  They had turned away from him, when he had thought them friends.

            That was betrayal.

            Wesley heard a smashing sound nearby, and only then did he really look again at the mirror, which was broken and shattered, rather like his life.  His fractured face stared back at him, and he could see the glass slightly red with his blood.  He looked down and could see viscous blood slowly welling from his cut knuckles.  The pain had snapped him out of his reverie, made him aware of things outside his own thoughts again.

            He grabbed a bandage for his injury, and wound it around his hand.  His throat hurt.  His hand hurt.  Even his bloody heart hurt.  He almost wished it would all end.  That somewhere, somebody would have an un-avertable apocalypse, and when he went to bed tonight, he would never wake.  It was a selfish thought.

            He turned the light off in the bathroom and went to pour himself a glass of alcohol.  He didn't care what kind it was, the first thing available would work.  He'd drink, and then he'd sleep, and wake in the morning with a headache and a guilty conscience.  His routine was getting bloody old by now, but it was all he had.  So he drank down the liquid, barely tasting it, and walked to his bed content in the knowledge that he'd soon be sleeping the sleep of the very, very drunk.

_And I raise my head and stare/into the eyes of a stranger_

_I've always known that the mirror never lies_

_People always turn away/from the eyes of a stranger_

_Afraid to know/what lies behind the stare._

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

A/N:  Lyrics are to Queensryche's "Eyes of a Stranger" which inspired this chapter.


	4. The Thrall

            The man, his prey, was asleep at last.  A time when a mind was most vulnerable, because the consciousness was inaccessible.  There was nothing to prevent one who was once worshiped as a god of sleep from entering his mind, and working his will.  It was a more complicated and insidious method of thrall, by which a vampire could hypnotize its prey.  The more prolific form of thrall was where a vampire simply overpowered the human's mind with pure brute force.  Any master vampire who wished to could do this in his sleep…but Morpheus's method took years of practice and a keen intellect.  He not only forced the mind into submission, he could read the deepest thoughts, and bring hidden desires to the fore.

            _Wesley, _called Morpheus into the depths of the man's subconscious.  _Wesley Wyndham-Price.  _The sleeping man acknowledged his presence, knew he was being spoken to.  _Call out, Wesley.  Say 'Enter, Morpheus,' and I shall make your dark desires a reality._

            The conscious mind stirred a moment in protest of said desires, then settled down again.  Morpheus knew the dreams of men, knew that even now some part of this man wished revenge against those who had hurt him, scarred him.  Morpheus knew that Wesley would never, if left to his own, act on those impulses.  He was a man of thought, of introspection…but when the situation called for it, he could also be a man of action.  That was a good sign.

            The more Morpheus saw of the man's mind, the more convinced he became that Wesley could become great among his kind.  He saw great hatred—self-hatred as well as hatred directed outward, towards parents, towards Lilah, and towards his ex-friends.  Hatred could be provoked into rage, and into pure vampiric power.  And even as he hated, it was a cold, bitter hate—even more dangerous than hot hate, for the cold could wait, bide its time until it was ready to strike, and destroy utterly.

            _Come Wesley, say the words.  You want to._

            The ex-Watcher stirred fitfully in his sleep.  He was attempting resistance; he had a strong will, for a human, but that would not save him from being damned.  Morpheus was no longer doing this for Wolfram & Hart's benefit, he was doing it for himself, and for the creature that Wesley could become.  He could not let a prize such as this, a power such as this, fall into the hands of Lilah Morgan.  He would be wasted there, when he had so much more he could be.

            _Let me in, Wesley Wyndham-Price.  I will change your life.  You will finally be able to unleash your hate, to find your revenge.  Tell me now if you do not want to be free, and I shall leave.  But say me enter, and I shall make your dreams come true._

By now, as Morpheus could see through the bedroom window, the man was covered in a cold sweat, the sheets tangled about his legs.  His mind was chaos, as the consciousness had again stirred to war with the subconscious.  But it could not prevail.  In the end, it was always the subconscious that won out, as it would be again tonight.

            Wesley mouthed two words, barely any sound to them.  "Enter…Morpheus," he sighed.  But it was enough.  The vampire released his hold on Wesley's mind, and walked to the front door, opening it with a thought.  Grinning, he walked into the house.


	5. The Fight

A/N:  Implied rape, don't read if that disturbs you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Wesley's dreams were troubled, which, in itself, was not unusual.  But in past nights the dreams had been focused on him.  His father yelling at him, berating him for not living up to the family's high expectations.  Cordelia and Fred and Gunn, turning their backs on him.  Angel coming at him with something more deadly than a pillow.  And his personal favorite, Justine slitting his throat every time he closed his eyes.  The event that began this vast downward spiral.

            But none of those were included in his nightmares this night.  Tonight his dreams were directed outward, and filled with blood.  Blood covered the floor of the Hyperion, the corpses of his once-friends on the floor, their necks bearing the same mark his did.  Gunn and Cordelia stared at him through glazed, dead eyes.  And Fred, little, lovely Fred, she was dead too, blood coming from cuts all over her face and body, her eyes purple and swollen, her dress torn.  Blood on Wesley's hands.

            Blood on his hands as they constricted about Lilah Morgan's lily white neck.  He contemplated taking advantage of her for the briefest of seconds, then decided that he just wanted her dead.  He could hear her screams, her cries as she pleaded with him to let her go.  And in the dream, he enjoyed making her suffer, making her beg, and then breaking her neck, watching the body fall lifeless to the floor of her corner office.

            Blood on his hands as he drove a sharpened wooden stake through Angel's heart.  Ashes were everywhere, Wesley breathed them in, choked on them.  Blood and ashes on his hands, lives in his hands.  He had never felt so powerful, or so righteous.  But it was only a dream, it wasn't like he'd ever do those terrible things in real life.

            He awoke with a start, hardly surprised to find that he had kicked all the covers off himself while he'd slept.  He reached to the foot of the bed and grabbed his slacks, and, pulling them on, went to pour himself a drink.  His dreams had troubled him.  Not with their violence, but with how good it had felt to do those acts, to have revenge on those who had betrayed him, used him, turned their backs on him.

            "No," he croaked, his voice harsh from disuse, "don't worry about Wesley.  Just leave him to wallow in his own self-pity.  After all, he deserves it doesn't he?"  Wes gave a bitter laugh.  That's what they'd say, that's what they probably were saying right now.  He deserved his life because he'd been trying to protect Angel, to save him from murdering his son.  Now Connor was back, and Angel probably as happy as he could be without breaking that damned curse again.  And any word to him?  None.  He doubted that any of them would ever talk to him again…unless they needed something, and then he'd just have to refuse to help them.

            They'd be using him for his knowledge and skills, not trying to forgive him for doing the only thing he could see to do.

            He brushed through his bed-mussed hair with his hands, and walked to his liquor cabinet which he kept fully stocked.  The room was dark, but Wesley had memorized the layout of the room.  He rarely had the lights on in the house anymore; the light was too bright when one had a hangover.

            "Hello.  Wesley Wyndham-Price, I assume," called a voice from the darkness.

            "Who are you?" asked Wesley harshly.  He could see the outline of the man sitting on the couch.  Someone had broken into his house, and yet was not taking anything, or making a move to hurt him?  Peculiar.  "And what do you want," he added suspiciously, eyes narrowing.

            "I apologize for my rudeness.  My name is Morpheus."

            Wesley knew that name.  It had come to him in his dreams, and he knew somehow, that Morpheus was a vampire, and that Wesley had invited him into the house.  He tried not to show his fear, merely asked: "Would you care for a drink?"  And then realized it was probably the worst thing he could have said in the situation.

            "You don't beat around the bush, do you Wesley?"  The man must have smiled, because suddenly Wesley saw bright white in the darkness.  "Don't worry, I'm gonna make you a star."

            The man lunged with such speed…even a vampire couldn't be that fast, could he?  Wesley barely had time for that one stray thought, and the vampire was upon him.  He tried to fight, but his every move was countered almost before he made it.  He tried a punch to the face, but the vampire stepped back, and the force of Wesley's blow spun him around.  The vampire could have grabbed him then, but he didn't.  This Morpheus was drawing out the fight.  Wesley was dangerously off-balance, but tried to kick the vampire's legs out from under him anyway.  The vampire jumped, and Wesley fell to the ground.  _My coordination is shot.  If I'd known I'd be fighting for my life, I'd never have had that last drink_, he thought wryly.

            Wes rolled backward, and stood, grabbing the leg of the dining room chair and breaking it off as he rose to his feet.  "I think you should leave," he said with all the confidence he could muster.

            "Nonsense, you invited me.  Now, how about that drink?"  The vampire came at him with a flurry of blows, more than Wes could possibly hope to block.  A leg caught him in the stomach, doubling him over, then an elbow to the small of his back, and he fell to the floor again, the chair leg falling from his numb fingers.

            Morpheus picked him up and tossed him against the wall.  "Don't fight it Wesley.  I've been inside your dreams, I know your thought like they are my own.  Deep down, you want it," said the vampire as he closed the distance between them.  Wesley couldn't see his face clearly before, in the darkness, but in the passing of a car outside his window, he could see it now.  He had seen pictures of the vampire Buffy had referred to as the Master, and Morpheus's face resembled that, but much more lined and wrinkled.  And the teeth, if possible, were sharper.

            Such were his thoughts as those teeth entered the flesh of his neck.  It brought him back to a few weeks ago, when Justine had taken a knife to his throat.  And just like that, it did not hurt so much at first, but worsened over time.  The suction was the worst, made it hurt even more as the blood was being drawn out of him.  He remembered to fight, but he was too weak, he could barely even move in the vampire's grasp.  His vision began to go a little fuzzy, the darkness around him becoming even more so, closing in on him.

            He hit the floor shortly after.  He had no knowledge of time, a minute could have felt like an hour, or a second.  So how long he lay on the floor was a mystery to him.  He couldn't feel anything, physically or mentally.  Nothing touched him here…and he thought that this must be what death felt like.  It had been similar with Justine, but always he could feel the pain.  Now he was pleasantly numb, drifting away from the world.  And who needed it anyway?

            "There now," he thought he heard, from far away, "was that so bad?"  A laugh.  Wes could swear he had heard a laugh.  "Shh, don't worry, everything's going to be terrific.  See you when you wake, Wesley."


	6. Conversation

"Is it done?" asked Lilah, looking up from an open file when she saw who her visitor was.  She'd been working late again; a new case from Special Projects they said demanded her special attention.

            "It's done," came the calm reply.

            "So where is he?"

            "Dead."

            "Well, that's kind of the point, isn't it?  Vampires _are_ dead."

            "Dead, the eternal sleep, never waking up kind."

            "That wasn't the deal," said Lilah coldly, anger barely hidden.

            "No, it wasn't."  So calm, so damn self-assured.  If she hadn't needed him to do this….

            "Wolfram and Hart don't take lightly to those that renege on their word, Morpheus," she threatened.

            "You say that like it's my fault."

            "Isn't it?"

            "Of course," he said with a grin as he walked over to Lilah's desk and said down casually in the empty chair, and put his hands behind his head.  "But that's alright, you and your people can't touch me.  If I wanted to, I could disappear for the entire span of human history, and you'd never ever find me.  Or I could call in a few favors, and Wolfram and Hart would cease to exist, on this plane and any other."

            Lilah froze.  She knew he was right, and it had been a risk dealing with him.  Even now she wasn't sure she believed him about Wesley's death.  It just seemed too well planned.  And there was really no reason not to turn the man.  "Fine.  Have it your way.  For the record, Morpheus, I think you're lying."

            "It doesn't matter what you think, Lilah, you're dead once your bosses find out you've failed."

            "_I _didn't fail, Morpheus.  I had a lapse of judgment, and trusted a vampire to do me a favor.  _You _are the one who failed.  Of course, you are right, it won't matter to _them_.  I'll be out of here by morning…unless…."

            "Unless what, Lilah?  Out of curiosity, what are you scheming now?"

            "I want the body.  I have that right at least."

            "Burned."

            "What?"

            "I burned the house to cover any trace of my presence there."

            "Bullshit."

            Morpheus shrugged.  "Ok, you called me there.  But I'm not lying about Wesley.  He's as dead as a doornail, so the saying goes."

            "Then bring the corpse.  We have experts in necromancy on staff, and we may still be able to use him; at the very least we can extract his memories,"  she said, leaning closer to the vampire, setting her warm hand on his chest.  "Will you do that for me?"

            Morpheus ignored the hand over his un-beating heart, and suppressed at laugh at her attempted seduction.  He doubted it would work on anyone who knew Lilah well.  Not that she wouldn't follow through on it, but who would want a poisonous snake in their bed?  Far safer to ignore her.  But he had to do something about this problem.  He knew Lilah would want proof one way or the other, and he certainly didn't want the firm to have a weapon such as Wesley.  He wasn't afraid of Wolfram and Hart.  Despite their friends in high (and low) places, they were amateurs for the most part.  Only a few things in this world could really threaten him.  Despoilment of his plan was just an annoyance.  In this case, a rather large annoyance, but not a threat to him.

            Perhaps he could work it to his advantage.  Bring her the "body" and then sit back and watch.  And encourage if it was necessary…_if _it was necessary.

            "I'll bring the body tomorrow night.  To where?  I doubt you'll want a corpse in your personal office."

            "True.  We have a morgue in the first sub-basement.  Bring it there."

            Morpheus smiled.  "See you tomorrow night then, Lilah."

            "I'll be expecting you."

            Morpheus then made his exit.  _Tomorrow night you're dead, Lilah.  One way or another.  Almost wish I could bring myself to care._


	7. The Vampire

            The pleasant blackness was fading away.  Wesley tried with all his will to hold on to it, but the more he tried, the faster it faded.  When the blackness was gone, all that existed in him was hunger.  It was stronger than any feeling he ever remembered experiencing…pain, anger, and jealousy all paled in comparison to this.  The hunger was a _need_, like breathing….  Breathing!  He wasn't breathing!  He was disoriented, and confused now, but he couldn't think properly, not with the need burning in his stomach.  In that instant, Wesley realized what had happened.  It wasn't a thought, but a gut-deep _knowing_.  He was a vampire.

            And he was hungry.

            Not needing an instruction manual, Wesley knew that only one thing could satisfy this hunger, and strangely enough, he was not repulsed.  Perhaps his human self would have been, but now he accepted it as part of his existence.  The room he was in was dark, but Wesley could see perfectly, as if he were under evening sunlight.  The only door in the room was large, steel, and locked.  His surroundings gave him pause.  The room was filled with meat, like a butcher's freezer.  But the bloodless corpses did not have what he needed.  He needed to get out of here, to find something to assuage his hunger, be it human or animal.

            Wesley threw himself with animal-like ferocity against the steel door, hoping he could move it, force it open.  He flew back several feet when the door resisted his attack.  He was trapped.  Trapped and hungry.  _Dying _of hunger.

            Then came a sound not of his making, metal against metal.  The door was being opened.  _Freedom! _his mind screamed.  Wesley readied himself for another lunge, this time against the person who was opening the door.  He felt a growl, almost undetectable, begin deep in his throat.  And then he caught a smell.  It was faintly metallic, but not warm.  It was dead blood, and the one entering was not human, but another like himself.

            The steel door opened, and Morpheus entered, carrying several bags of packaged blood.  He tossed a few to Wesley, who accepted them greedily, then carefully opened one at a time and drank the contents.  "Good to see that you have some restraint, at least.  It is important, when making a master vampire, to keep the human mind intact, and not rely entirely on instinct, so I shall now allow you to feed yet on living human blood.  It is also important for you to recognize that I am your master, your maker.  All you are now, and all you now receive, is because of me.  Never forget that.

            "I will not force you to do everything I tell you to do, for you are not my minion, but will one day be my equal.  That is not to say that I will allow you to do everything you want to do, either."  Morpheus sighed, an unnecessary drawing of breath, but one that was comforting to him, to the humanity he still remembered.  "One day you will be able to live with both human feeling and reasoning and vampire instinct.  That is the essence of the master vampire, that is what makes us unique to vampire kind.  Others can achieve power equal to ours and not be true master vampires, despite what they call themselves, for example one of my offspring who lived under Sunnydale."

            Wesley looked up at the master vampire with yellow eyes filled with open contempt.  His hunger gone for now, thoughts and memories again came easily to him.  He did not hate this vampire for stealing his humanity.  He wasn't doing much with it anyway.  No, Wesley hated Morpheus because he did not like being dependent on anyone.  He'd had a taste of freedom when he was running Angel Investigations, the first time he truly felt in charge in his life.  Back when he was a Watcher, he depended on the Council, and even Mr. Giles' opinion of him.  He'd let himself be bossed around, and had hated himself for it.  He would allow himself to be led any longer.  He could do whatever he wanted now, free from conscience.

            "You may hate me now," said Morpheus in response to his glare, "but that will not always be the case.  Anyway, we're meeting Lilah Morgan tomorrow night.  She's the one that wanted you turned, in case you hadn't guessed.  I told her you were dead, completely and irreversibly dead."

            "Oh?" replied Wesley venomously.

            "I did not want her to have such a weapon as yourself."

            Wesley laughed now, a harsh and unnatural sound.  "And am I truly such a powerful asset?  Angel surely did not think so."

            "Ah, the vampire cursed with a soul.  My descendent, wouldn't you know.  Angelus never was a good judge of character.  He would not have recognized your steel, your great potential.  And Angel certainly would never have worked to shape it.  But Wesley, you could be the greatest vampire in a thousand years.  If you want to be.  If not…I will open the door and allow you to walk into the sun."

            "No," replied Wesley with conviction.  And then smiled, showing his fangs.  "You said Lilah ordered this?  And that we are to see her tomorrow?"

            "Oh yes.  I thought you might like a chance at revenge."

            "I think I should very much like that."  In this decision, both his human memories and the demon were in complete, unwavering accord.  Then, to himself alone: "Tomorrow, Lilah."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N:  Sorry it's been so long for this part.  The next few should be along shortly.  Thank you for all your feedback, and I always like more ^_^


	8. The Vengence

            Lilah paced the length of the room and back again.  She did not like to be kept waiting, and the morgue made her slightly uncomfortable.  Odd, that.  She'd been surrounded by death ever since she joined Special Projects, had watched people die before her eyes.  Yet the place that all those bodies went, all the skeletons in Wolfram & Hart's closet, made her feel slightly nauseous.  She shouldn't have agreed to meet here, she should have chosen a place that didn't put her so far off her guard.  But the morgue was the most logical place for a dead body, with all the preservation spells and a necromancer on call 24 hours a day.  She would get at least part of what she and the firm wanted from Wesley.

            It was the whiteness of the room that made her uneasy, she thought.  She preferred dark colors, deep reds and violets.  Nothing natural was as sterile as this, and the smell…it made her queasy.  Chemically preserved body parts gave off the smell of formaldehyde; slightly decayed flesh that smelled even worse.  Even being down here for a few minutes was enough to affect her.  She couldn't let Morpheus see it whenever he decided to show up.

            They had never decided upon a particular time, and so she had waited in her office until she'd received a phone call from the vampire.  It had been well after normal business hours, and the building was nearly deserted except for a few attorneys working late and the night janitors.  So she'd made her way unnoticed into this room on the first sub-basement.  Nobody without proper clearance could come down here normally, but she had rigged the elevator to let Morpheus come down.  And disabled the firm's vampire-alarms.

            _I should have been more patient.  I should not have used Morpheus, he is too volatile.  _She berated herself for allowing this to happen.  She hadn't wanted Wesley dead, and the firm certainly hadn't wanted such a great asset gone to waste.  Damn.  She'd screwed up big here, and she just hoped she could salvage something and keep her job.  It wasn't just that she didn't want to die, she _liked _working at Wolfram & Hart.  She liked the rush of power she got when she realized she was above the law…even while working inside it.

            She heard a noise from behind her, and whirled to face Morpheus entering the morgue with a lifeless body in his arms.  It still looked fresh, and Lilah could still see the puncture wounds in the corpse's scarred neck.

            "Set it on the table here," Lilah said, indicating one of the stainless steel autopsy tables.

            "'It,' Lilah?  How positively rude.  Wesley is dead of course, but I hardly think he'd like hearing himself referred to as an 'it,'" replied Morpheus, carrying the body to the table.

            "Wesley's soul isn't here to care what I call him.  You took care of that."

            "So I did.  What are you going to do about it?" he inquired.

            Lilah was silent.  She wouldn't admit that she was powerless to do anything to him.  She couldn't make an idle threat when she didn't know how he'd respond to it.  Oh, how she wished she'd chosen a more controllable vampire.  But then Wesley would have been stunted.  Lilah nearly sighed.  Stunted was better than dead, in retrospect.

            "Have you realized yet how ineffectual you really are yet?" asked Morpheus in a conversational tone, as if he was commenting on the weather.

            Lilah glared at him.  She couldn't help herself.  "Leave.  Now."  It came out in an angry growl that surprised even herself.  She wasn't used to being so undiplomatic.

            Morpheus gave an exaggerated shrug.  "Suit yourself," he said, walking for the door.  He'd just reached it when he turned around and said, "Hope you and the dead guy enjoy yourselves."  The door closed behind him.

            The brunette lawyer released a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.  He was gone at last, and hopefully, if she had her way, would never deal with Wolfram & Hart again.  Lilah made a cursory examination of Wesley's body.  He was wearing only a pair of rumpled slacks, and she could see marks of a struggle on his chest and arms.  Slight bruising around the puncture wounds…odd.  The draining of his blood had not killed him, or else those wounds would be clean and bloodless, not bruised.  She began to wonder what _had _killed him, if not that.  She found no other marks, besides the scar around his neck.

            Her little Judas, she remembered calling him that night.  He'd glared at her angrily, and she knew that she'd hurt him.  It made her feel good…powerful.  Of course, he'd hurt her far worse that that when he told her how much she hadn't mattered to him.  Her nails drew blood from her palm as she remembered the words.

            "Is that…blood I smell, Ms. Morgan?" asked a calm, cold voice that sent a chill of fear down her spine.  So Morpheus had lied.  Wesley had been changed successfully, and that damn vampire bastard had loosed him on her.  It explained the bruises, at least.  "I hadn't realized your blood would smell so sweet, Lilah.  It's much nicer than the rest of you," he said.  Lilah was still paralyzed, she could only stare as the face of the Wesley she had known was transformed.  Terrible yellow eyes stared at her with hunger, but not the kind she remembered.  A far more terrible hunger that would leave her as dead as Wesley was supposed to be.

            "Aren't you going to say anything, Lilah?  Come now, you aren't scared of me are you?  Afraid of little old Wesley…you must be ashamed of yourself.  I can smell your fear, you know.  It's spicy.  I can only imagine how it will make your blood taste."  Wes smiled at her, showing teeth that were white and impossibly sharp.

            She tried to make her voice calm, even as she backed away toward the door.  "What do you want?"

            "Ah, proud Lilah.  Even to the end.  Haven't you figured it out yet?  You must be more dense than I thought."  He got up from the table and moved impossibly fast toward her.  "Revenge, Lilah," he whispered in her ear.  She unsuccessfully tried to stifle the gasp.  He was too close.  Why wasn't he doing anything?  She could—should, by all sense—be dead by now.  Why was he waiting?  Lilah didn't kid herself, she knew it couldn't be anything good.

            Wes ran a hand across her body, and she tried to flinch away, but he just grabbed her more tightly.  "I had a dream the other night.  I dreamed of killing you, strangling the life out of you with both hands about your fragile little neck.  I was surprised by how _right _it felt.  And that was back when I still had a soul.

            "And do you know what, Lilah?  I had a thought in that dream, that perhaps I should rape you, make you feel how helpless you truly are.  I decided then that I simply wanted you dead.  Of course now things are different.  I still want you dead, of course, but now after you've tried—successfully, at that—to have me killed, I want to hurt you before you die."

            Lilah went stiff.  She couldn't stop him.  She'd prided herself all her life on being strong and capable, able to deal with any situation…and here came something inescapable.  There was nothing she could do to Wesley now.  There was no wood in the morgue, and she'd disabled the vampire-alarms.  No one even knew she was here.  She was more frightened than she'd ever been in her life, and God help her, it was starting to show.  Sweat was dripping down her face, and her elegant cream silk blouse was ruined by perspiration.  She was on the verge of tears, but she knew that nothing would help her.  Wesley had no sympathy left, if he'd ever possessed any for her at all.

            And that was when she felt his grip on her change.

            "I know something I'll enjoy more than your body, and I hope it will hurt you the same way.  Actually, I know it will.  I wish you could tell me when all this is done, how it feels to be violated."  And his fangs bit into the soft flesh of her neck.  She screamed, but that just made it hurt worse.  She fought, clawed at his exposed flesh, but it didn't faze him.  Lilah could not break out of his terrible grip.

            Finally, she stopped trying.  She realized the blackness that was creeping up on her was not her enemy, but her escape.  And she rushed toward it with open arms.  The last thing that registered was a voice.

            "Goodbye, Lilah, it's been fun."


	9. Aftermath

            Wes wiped the last traces of blood from his mouth with his naked arm, and let his teeth retract from their elongated state.  The muscles of his face relaxed as well when the demon was once more pushed to the back of his consciousness.  It was his first kill, his first taste of living human blood, and he felt better than he had in a long time.  Powerful.  It was no longer in him to sit back and let others take out their emotional baggage on him, or to use him in any other way.  Wes almost pitied the fool who tried to stand in his way…but he knew how much _fun _it would be to rip the still beating hear from the chest and drink until he'd gorged himself with blood.

            And now that he'd taken care of Lilah in a most satisfactory manner, it was time for Angel.  Time to show the arrogant bastard that you did not mess with Wesley Wyndham-Price; you didn't toss him away like so much refuse.  The hurt was gone, thankfully.  The pain of betrayal no longer plagued him, only the anger…and the desire for revenge.  Angel would feel every hurt he'd caused Wes returned in kind.  And then some.

            He could _feel _Morpheus waiting outside the door.  The presence of the Master vampire was nearly overwhelming, his aura filled Wesley's senses.  To be the childe of one so powerful and ancient filled him with something akin to pride.  He was a vampire now, and there was no going back.  Not that he wanted to.

            Wesley stepped over Lilah's crumpled body that looked so like a marionette with its strings cut.  Without a backward glance, he left the body where it had fallen, and left the morgue, closing the door behind him.

            "You've made yourself a target, you know," came the voice of his sire.  Morpheus did not judge, merely laid out a fact.

            Wes just nodded.  They walked to the elevator, leaving the morgue behind them.

            "Yes, well, I knew that you would want to kill her yourself.  Wolfram & Hart won't like losing the two of you in one night.  They'll more than likely keep pursuing you."

            "Yes."

            Morpheus shrugged.  "You truly are a remarkable creature, Wesley."

            Now it was Wes's turn to shrug.

            "Have you given any thought as to what you're going to do after?"

            "After?"

            "Yes, when you have dealt with the others.  Angel and his associates."

            "No, I haven't given that much thought, really."

            "Ah."

            "What is that supposed to mean?" asked Wes as they entered the elevator that led to the first floor.

            "Nothing.  Most vampires I know have no plans for the future; they live moment to moment.  It seems pointless to make plans when you have eternity.  Plans are for mortals who have to budget their short time on earth.  And the ambitious vampire."

            "Like you?" asked Wes, curious.

            "No, not me.  My ambition is not what it used to be.  I was thinking more along the lines of the Master.  Creatures that desire to rule the earth are the kind that make plans, and have yet to succeed."

            "I have no desire to rule anything.  I think though, that after Angel I should like to be alone for a while.  Sort a few things out."

            Morpheus nodded.  The elevator chimed their destination as its doors opened.  The building was as empty as it had been when they'd entered.  It was rather a disappointment, actually.  With fresh blood coursing in his veins, Wes in the mood for some action.

            "Well, let's go home.  Tomorrow is soon enough to find Angel," said Morpheus.  "Besides, you'll be feeling the aftereffects of feeding so deeply soon; you're not used to taking so much at once.  I expect the dizziness and lethargy will come soon.  You'll need to rest."

            "Very well," agreed Wesley.

            They walked out of the office building into the pre-dawn night, the sky just beginning to lighten as the sun drew slowly nearer.  Sunrise was still an hour away, but it was best to get to cover as soon as possible.  Wes could feel the sun, it was a sensation of danger that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.  It wouldn't do to be burnt to a cinder before his revenge was complete.  Another of Morpheus's refuges was near, not the one Wes had awoken in, but one of several scattered throughout the city.

            Angel could wait another day…after all Wesley had eternity.


End file.
